Goldfish Need Not Apply
by Candace Waters
Summary: Gary meets Marissa for the first time


I'm not sure what inspired the name for this short   
story but... I liked it, so I kept it. :-) Maybe that   
commercial for those silly little goldfish crackers  
was on at the time I wrote this, I don't know, but  
it's just a silly title for a silly little story. Enjoy! :-)  
  
Many thanks to Tracy for all her encouragement  
to write, write, write! Putting forth a challenge to   
write a small piece on how Gary and Marisa first met.  
And thanks also to Rose for inspiring me to take on   
the challenge with the excellent little story that she wrote  
first. G G  
  
Disclaimer: Early Edition its characters  
and some situations are the property of   
CBS Productions and Sony/Tristar.  
  
Goldfish Need Not Apply  
By Candace Waters  
Sept 2002  
  
~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~  
Rrrriing! Rrrriing!!!  
  
"Good morning. Strauss and Associates,   
Marissa Clark speaking, may I help you?  
Yes. No. Yes. Hm-m-m ...I see. Well, actually,   
Mr.Pritchard isn't taking any calls this morning.  
May I take a message?"   
  
Cradling the receiver on her shoulder, the receptionist felt   
around the top of her desk for the small PDA she kept   
there. Finding it, she placed the receiver back to her ear  
and quickly typed in the message.   
  
"Yes. You're welcome," she smiled, "Have a nice day."   
  
Gentle fingers searching for the phone base, she carefully   
replaced the receiver then raised her head. Only a second  
ago, she had heard the door to the office open, aware now  
that she had company. A slight breeze blew against her   
cheek as the visitor cautiously approached the counter.   
The receptionist had a nose for gabardine and could detect  
its subtle scent in the air.  
  
"May I help you?" she asked.  
  
Standing at the counter clutching a breifcase, was a   
gentleman--tall and handsomely dressed--wearing a  
dark suit and tie. His hair was immaculately combed,   
his face freshly shaven. He looked nervously about  
as he shifted the brief case he carried awkwardly from   
one hand to the other to remove a piece of paper from   
his inside coat pocket.  
  
"Yeah, ah... hi. I'm looking for a..." he paused to refer  
to the crumpled slip of paper, "... Mr. Pritchard." He glanced  
up from the paper. "C-Can you tell me where his office is?"  
  
"Down the hall and to your right," the receptionist smiled.   
  
Turning back to her computer the receptionist had   
begun typing again when she noticed that the scent of   
gabardine lingered still fresh in the air. She paused and   
turned back around.  
  
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked   
politely, sensing an uneasiness in the visitor's demeanor.  
  
"Well, yeah. I kind of ..." the man began, then chuckled   
nervously lowering his voice to a husky whisper. "I'm here   
for an interview and I'm kind of uneasy about--- well, I   
really need this job you see and well... is my tie straight?   
I mean I hear the boss has got this thing about ... ties."  
  
The receptionist smiled, realizing the gentleman hadn't   
noticed her impairment. Amused, she leaned forward in   
her chair. "Well, is it yellow?" she asked softly.  
  
Preoccupied, removing his resume from his briefcase, the   
man paused to glance back down at the receptionist. "Huh?"  
  
"It doesn't have an Hawaiian thing going on with it, does  
it?" she asked, "You know...all flowery and all?"   
  
The man blinked, and for the first time noticed the eyes of the  
receptionist. He glanced slowly around her desk -- computer   
keys in Braille -- books and documents, all in Braille, sat neatly   
on top. Folded and laying on top of it all, was her cane. Feeling   
slightly foolish, a flush rose to color his cheeks.  
  
"Well..no," he answered hesitantly, running a hand across   
the back of his neck. "It's ah, n-not all flowery."  
  
"Then it's perfect I'm sure, " the receptionist smiled  
turning back to her work.  
  
Embarrassed for his oversight the man drew in a breath   
to apologize, "Look..I'm...sorry. I-I guess I'm more nervous   
than I thought. I didn't realize---" he paused abruptly to  
introduce himself. "Gary Hobson," he said and held out   
a hand to shake then withdrew it immediately just as the   
receptionist held out hers in return.  
  
"Marissa Clark," the receptionist said with her hand   
extended. " And, it's okay. Just because one has   
sight, doesn''t always mean that he sees. Besides, I   
hate sorry."  
  
An uneasy silence followed as the man stood staring   
blankly at the receptionist.   
  
After a moment, the receptionist slowly lowered her   
unshaken hand to drummed her fingers idly on the   
top of her desk instead. "Well," she sighed, "I suppose  
I should get back to work."  
  
She was turning back to her computer when a loud crash  
exploded from down the hall. Startled, the receptionist  
and the man turned quickly towards the sound.   
  
Rounding the corner from the right, came a gentleman  
clutching a partially opened briefcase, papers spilling   
out from it. He looked as though he just been through   
the ringer his tie, shirt and coat--all disheveled. As he   
scrambled passed, he shot a wary glance at the man   
standing at the counter, opened his mouth to utter   
something but decided against it and hurriedly exited   
the office leaving a trail of papers cluttering the floor   
behind him.  
  
"I need sharks here!" A loud voice bellowed, coming from   
in the same direction the man had come. " What's with   
these goldfishes coming through here lately!!!? Sharks  
are what this company need!! Sharks!! Sharks make   
profit! Sharks to do a man's job! Goldfish need not apply!!!"   
  
The office door slammed shut with a loud bang, rattling the   
doors and windows in the building. Suddenly there was silence.  
  
The man at the counter glanced back down at the receptionist  
who sat clutching a vase of flowers that teetered on the edge of   
her desk. Swallowing hard he stammered, "Ah, d-did you say   
down th-the hall---?"   
  
"And to your right," the receptionist added softly, her eyes wide  
with concern.  
  
"Oh boy," he mumbled. Stuffing his resume into his pocket,   
the man picked up his briefcase then turned back to the   
receptionist. "Well, ah...thanks huh?"   
  
Sliding a hand through his hair, he started slowly down the   
long corridor pausing briefly to peer left before making a   
hesitant-right, at the corner.  
  
The receptionist drew in a nervous breath then let it   
out slowly. "Good luck," she whispered.  
  
The end 


End file.
